


It's Not Weak (If You Need To Be Held)

by icabyppup



Series: My Love, Take Care Of Yourself [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur gets drunk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Gen, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, I probably overused the italics, LET THE BOYS HUG 2KFOREVER, Mentions of alcohol and intoxication, Merlin is a good friend, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Arthur, Platonic Bed Sharing, Platonic Cuddling, Prince Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin, Sharing a Bed, TACTILE AFFECTION FUCK YEAH, That's it, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), some discussion of what could be considered child neglect, that's the story, you can read this as either platonic or romantic tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24958612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icabyppup/pseuds/icabyppup
Summary: “It’s – it’s just not right,” he hadn’t slurred, taking another sip from his goblet, “sure he’s the King, but he’s my father too! Can’t he put that aside for a single second?”“I think”, his manservant said delicately, “that sometimes Uther forgets that he can separate Arthur, Crown Prince and Knight from Arthur, his son.”Merlin’s face did another emotion, and Arthur took another swig.orWho Let Uther Pendragon be Responsible for the Emotional Upkeep of a Child?
Relationships: (central to the fic but not shown on-screen), Arthur Pendragon & Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: My Love, Take Care Of Yourself [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846987
Comments: 29
Kudos: 164





	It's Not Weak (If You Need To Be Held)

**Author's Note:**

> So... apparently I'm hopeless. Who knew?
> 
> Title is from 'Take Care of Yourself' by Maisie Peters
> 
> Massive massive MASSIVE thank you to CaraIsTrash and IGuessNot for introducing me to Merlin.  
> (I still hate you guys a little for it <3)
> 
> All of the credit for coherency goes to Cara, the wonderful beta-reader-slash-feels-screamer she is

Arthur left the great hall fuming.

This was in no way an uncommon occurrence - his meetings with Uther were rarely without incident. Both father and son were steadfast in their beliefs, and quick to anger. Their tempers were legendary throughout the castle, and Arthur had left the hall to see a guard hovering a bit too close one too many times for it to be coincidental. (Merlin had later confirmed that the guards drew straws to see who was on the aptly named _‘stop the royals from killing each other’_ duty. Shockingly, the same procedure applied to dinners with Morgana.) Unsurprisingly, there were a thousand habits belonging to both King and Prince that got on the other’s nerves.

But out of all of the irritating habits, there was one tendency of Uther’s that topped Arthur’s list. One thing that always left him fuming, a string of words that enraged him beyond anything else.

And that was Uther’s _incensing_ habit of pulling rank.

Sure, he was undeniably the King. And in matters of state, the Crown Prince would happily concede to the higher authority _(when said higher authority wasn’t threatening his people or endangering the lives of innocents, a voice in the back of his mind whispered, which he pushed down immediately)._

But.

He was also his _father._

And in Arthur’s professional opinion, it wasn’t fair – and therefore not honourable – to lord one’s title over other’s heads in situations where said title is _completely_ irrelevant.

(Somewhere, Merlin is calling him out.)

And whenever his father pulled rank in a completely domestic issue, it threw him – not because it was uncommon, far from it – but something about it left a hollow feeling in his gut.

He’d confided this to Merlin once, when he’d indulged in perhaps a _smidge_ too much wine with dinner after an argument.

“It’s – it’s just not _right_ ,” he _hadn’t_ slurred, taking another sip from his goblet, “sure he’s the King, but he’s my father too! Can’t he put that aside for a _single second?”_

Merlin had looked at him with an expression that, on any other face, would have Arthur defending his pride against pity. But it was Merlin, and he was ~~drunk~~ tipsy, so he let it slide.

“I think”, his manservant said delicately, “that sometimes Uther forgets that he can separate Arthur, Crown Prince and Knight from Arthur, his son.”

And yeah, that made sense… Didn’t mean he had to like it, though. Why did Merlin only make sense at inconvenient times?

Merlin’s face did another emotion, and Arthur took another swig. He was tired, and (fine) drunk, and the sour pit in his stomach was only growing by the second.

And if there was any time he could let go like this, it was here. In the privacy of his chambers, with Merlin.

_(Merlin,_ of all people. Who would’ve thought?)

He took another mouthful of wine. What the hell? He quietened the warning in the back of his head with the comfort that he could pass this all off on the inebriation tomorrow. Merlin might tease him, yes, but ultimately he knew that nothing would leave his chambers.

So, Arthur let go. Just a little, and just for tonight.

“He never listens to me! Whether it’s about the people or not, he dismisses me as a child without even listening to what I have to say. He doesn’t even _pretend_ to consider my points! It makes me angry, Merlin, _so angry_.”

His manservant wisely pulled up a chair.

“He always sides with Morgana when there’s an argument. I swear, sometimes he agrees with her just to spite me! And he’s always ordering me about!”

The prince’s gesticulations were beginning to increase in violence and intensity.

“Arthur, do this! Arthur, do that! Arthur, woo this princess, Arthur, go slay that beast! Like I’m some bloody servant, like the sole purpose of my existence is to please him!”

His flying hands caught the rim of his goblet and it crashed down, wine seeping into the wood grain of the table. Arthur sobered, watching the crimson bleed through the cracks.

“You know, I sometimes think he sees me as nothing more than a pawn to manipulate, just another soldier to order around.”

His voice was quiet now, low and scared like a child. He found that he couldn’t meet Merlin’s gaze, but _bless him,_ his manservant didn’t try and make him. He just sat beside Arthur, a comforting presence as he spilled his heart onto the stones.

“I try _so hard_ to please him. I follow his orders, I study and I train, I _kill on command._ What more does he want from me? What more do I have to do to prove myself worthy of his respect?”

Arthur’s choked, words no more than a whisper.

“What more do I need to do to be his _son?”_

Merlin didn’t answer. There was no point – nothing he said could lessen the burn. The weight of _not good enough_ that rested heavy in his bones.

But.

He gently righted the goblet, then slung and arm around Arthur’s shoulders. The warmth of skin beneath Merlin’s thin sleeve bled through his tunic, and his stupidly skinny arm rested surprisingly heavy on Arthur’s frame. The weight wasn’t stifling, though. It didn’t make him feel trapped or caged, didn’t make him want to bend from the burden of it or sink under the weight of invisible, insurmountable expectations.

It was simple, comforting. Grounding in a good way; making him more aware of the chair beneath his legs, the sweetness of wine on his tongue and the wood below his fingertips. Arthur felt present.

He didn’t even realise he’d left, but thanks to Merlin, he was back again.

Merlin scooted his chair closer, grating against the stone floors. Arthur could’ve sprung away, could’ve used the noise as an opportunity to ‘come back to his senses’ and stage a retreat.

He didn’t.

He let Merlin move closer, guide Arthur’s heavy head to rest against his bony shoulder as the warm buzz of wine fizzled through his mind.

Excuses were a problem for tomorrow Arthur.

Today Arthur was perfectly content to rest, silently, against his manservant and closest friend. That was, until his head dropped off of Merlin’s shoulder and made a beeline for the tabletop; the descent slowed by a warm, calloused hand only inches from the wood.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Arthur whined undignifiedly as Merlin hauled him out of his chair.

“You’re nodding off. Come on, let’s get you to bed before you brain yourself,” Merlin huffed, beginning to help Arthur into his nightclothes. “You couldn’t have changed before drinking yourself under the table, could you?”

“T‘d make your job too easy,” Arthur mumbled, trying to wrangle his limbs through the swathes of fabric.

A few minutes of struggle later, the Crown Prince of Camelot collapsed boneless onto his bed. Merlin fumbled with the covers, tugging them out from under Arthur’s body and pulling them over him; feeling comforted by the familiar weight of silk and furs. His manservant blew out the candles, and Arthur curled onto his side and pulled his knees to his chest.

For the nth time that night, he felt like a child.

“Merlin,” he murmured, and something in him cracked when all it took was a word to have his friend back at his side. A thought rose, unbidden, that he was too tired to stop. His father would never have done the same; had proven time and time again that he wouldn’t come when Arthur called.

“Do you-” his voice wavered, and he tried again, “-do you think Uther is a good father?”

He felt Merlin perch on the edge of his bed, and suddenly needed to say more.

“He- I was always healthy, always fed and clothed,” he made his best attempts to talk around the wine on his tongue, overwhelmed by a strong need to explain himself. “He taught me to fight, to- to lead men and defend with honour. To make alliances and woo courtiers.”

His words came out blurred by the alcohol, but Merlin seemed to understand.

“That’s not everything though, is it?”

Arthur was silent. Merlin sighed quietly, but it echoed loud in the darkness.

“Children need more than that, Arthur, they need… comfort, and affection, and patience; someone to pick them up when they fall and hold their hand when they’re unsteady.”

Normally Arthur would’ve dismissed his friend’s words, knowing where they led. But somehow, he couldn’t tonight. Maybe it was because it was Merlin; soft Merlin who cooed over baby animals with Gwen when he thought no-one was looking, who comforted crying children in the square, who was always, _always_ honest with Arthur – especially when he didn’t want to hear the truth. And this information felt raw in his chest.

“Children need love, Arthur.”

And yeah, that stung. Deep and bitter, and Arthur couldn’t deny the aching sense of loss he felt. He rolled over, back to Merlin, and curled up tighter. Maybe if he sunk into himself enough, the hurt would be pushed down again.

Merlin’s hand rested on the covers, over his shoulder. Arthur let out an involuntary, shuddering breath, somewhere between sigh and sob.

“ _You deserve love,_ Arthur.”

Merlin was talking as if he’d never been more sure of anything. He spoke in a tone of voice no different from the one he used to tell Arthur the day’s weather. Arthur wasn’t entirely convinced he was right, but he trusted Merlin wholly. His conviction may not be fact, but it did count for something.

He hiccupped a sob and curled up tighter, but Merlin only moved closer. Arthur heard the consecutive thuds of boots hitting the floor, then the warm weight of his friend settled into the mattress behind the curve of his spine. Merlin’s cold hand slipped under the furs; palm fitted gently to the blade of his shoulder. His bony knees dug into Arthur’s back, but the mild discomfort didn’t matter in the slightest. He’d never felt more secure, safer and more cared for than he did in that moment.

He suppressed the urge to pull away. He may never have an opportunity like this again, and he was in deep enough he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. The aching inside of him was _so_ tender, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Merlin’s comforting was surprisingly effective.

He hiccupped again and Merlin gently shushed him, rubbing his thumb rhythmically across the ridge of his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Arthur,” he murmured soothingly, “I promise.”

“Why do you say that?” he snapped through the tears.

“Because,” Merlin replied, gentle but firm, “we’re going to make up for everything you missed out on. There are so many people who care about you, Arthur – Gwen, Morgana, Gaius, the knights… There’s no excuse for you feeling unloved, because it’s _not true._ ”

At this, the manservant’s voice quietened.

“We all love you Arthur.”

And normally, Arthur wouldn’t be so forward in emotional matters. But today he was sad and drunk and had the sudden, sharp _need_ for immediate love; stronger than his need for air.

He rolled over to face Merlin.

“And you?” Arthur whispered hoarsely. “Do you love me?”

Merlin reached for Arthur’s hands, and held them in a firm grip as he whispered back, the curve of his lips barely visible in the darkness.

“More than anything.”

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin’s hands and pulled him closer. He fell heavily onto Arthur’s chest, and ended up sprawled graceless across the mattress. Arthur shifted to his right, leaving an approximately Merlin-sized dent in his wake. Silently, his friend rolled into the space. Arthur tried to pull the covers out from under him, but his alcohol-affected hands fumbled with the sheets.

“You really are hopeless, aren’t you?” Merlin griped affectionately.

He sat up to divest himself of his jacket before climbing under the covers to join Arthur’s warmth. The two men shuffled awkwardly, Arthur trying to avoid the worst of Merlin’s bony joints. Eventually they settled, Merlin curled gently into Arthur’s side, head pillowed on the other man’s shoulder.

“So,” his manservant said slyly, “is this your version of a middle finger to Uther? A servant in the royal bed?”

Arthur let out a startled snort.

“It’d really piss him off, w‘dn’t it? But don’t go getting a big head at the priv- privilege.”

Despite tripping over his tongue, his friend seemed to get the message. Arthur could feel Merlin’s smile pressed into his skin.

“I would _never_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope liked this!! I would absolutely adore a comment to let me know if you liked this, even just a heart emoji makes my day <3 <3 <3


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